


A Touch of Shadows

by deadlynerd



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, and Carmilla is going to end up helping Laura to investigate herself, and Laura's a furious little journalist, blood tw, it's basically a horror story, which should be fun!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlynerd/pseuds/deadlynerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Laura investigates odd deaths in the village of Silas, she can't seem to stop running into an obnoxious stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops I didn't even mean to write this fic...But my brain decided to be an asshole and give me all these ideas just before I went back to school! Oh well!  
> So this is set in Styria, Austria, however I do refer to moors in this fic...so...let's just ignore our knowledge of geography for the sake of fanfiction! (Come on, suspended disbelief everybody!)  
> Anyhow I hope you enjoy this prologue- it's just a little introductory thing.

**_20 years ago_ **

The crows murmured softly to each other as they overlooked the graveyard. They chuckled darkly from treetops and flapped their wings, making the trees whisper a warning to them in response- _danger, danger, danger…._

The mist and the rain of the moors obscured the crows from view and their disembodied laughter could be heard wherever one walked in the graveyard.

(A murder of crows indeed)

The eight men in the graveyard tried to ignore the message nature screamed at them, for it was vital that each performed their duty.

( _Danger, danger, danger_ chuckled the crows.)

The Five Zetas were hiding beneath great, black umbrellas and were solemnly watching a coffin being lowered into the ground by two sweating men.  One of their number, Peter Kirsch, remembered suddenly a story from his childhood, and he fought the sudden impulse to run, screaming from the graveyard.

_She’ll meet you and greet you and beware- she may eat you!_

_So lock your windows, lock your doors, and stay far, far away from the graveyard on the moors._

None of the men wanted to be there, but Elsie had to be put to rest in consecrated ground. The village was in agreement that it was the least the poor girl deserved.

A crow emerged from the mist as the men shivered under their umbrellas and it flapped past the priest, who was doggedly performing a sermon despite the rain. The abrupt appearance of the crow made the men jump and they looked around with growing unease.

Superstition was alive and well in Silas and for good reason

Peter remembered again the childhood rhyme and it echoed over and over in his head as the coffin reached bottom of the grave with a dull _thud._ (She’ll eat you, she’ll EAT YOU.) It had all seemed a lot funnier as a child, playing skipping games in the playground, and laughing at the silly legends surrounding the graveyard.

The five men didn’t look at each other as they each took a handful of dirt from their pocket and sprinkled it over the coffin. The tinny sound of soil hitting wood resonated eerily, bouncing off headstones.

Peter felt a wave of guilt at what he and the other four had done. Of what the whole village had done, and would continue to do every twenty years.

He thought then, of his newborn son, Brody, and tried to comfort himself. His actions, the actions of the Zetas and the village, preserved their way of life.

Maybe one day, Brody would understand. And then Peter had an uncomfortable thought.

_Maybe one day, Brody would be where he was right now…_

The priest began to finish his sermon and Peter shook himself, trying to shake off something that could not be removed.

_(Out damned spot!)_

It would never leave him, the guilt- although Peter did not know this yet.

He would forever be stuck with the image of the murdered innocent, he would forever have blood on his hands, he would never be able to erase the image of Elsie, lying there as if asleep, but _oh God_ she wasn’t because-

“Amen.”

The priest finished had finished his prayer for Elsie’s soul, _may she rest in peace._

The men did not exchange a word once the ceremony was completed for it was done, and could not be undone. And so they drew their long, long, black coats around themselves trying to preserve some sense of warmth (any glimmer of warmth was hard to come by on a misty, rainy day on the moors.)

Five umbrellas began to leave the graveyard, huddled together much like the crows watching from the trees were. The priest trailed behind them, clutching his Bible fearfully.

The two men who had lowered the coffin, remained behind to fill in the grave. They worked fast, glancing nervously around the steadily darkening graveyard.

It was a horrible business, everyone agreed.

(But a necessary one.)

The two men eventually completed their task, and almost ran from the graveyard, stumbling blindly through the mist.

No one noticed the girl who leaned against a gravestone and watched the proceedings with a smirk on her face.

(Perhaps however, they sensed it. The two men had goose bumps as they hunted through the fog anxiously, and they were sure that something or someone was watching them and laughing.)

The crows laughed and laughed and the girl lay down across the grave and laughed with them, a harsh cynical bark of laughter, that echoed of pain and terror, of an eternity of hurt.

The girl looked at the stars and listened to the trees, before she closed her eyes. It was so much easier this way, with only the darkness to keep her company and the soft, hard earth beneath her.

(Lock the doors, stay away from the graveyard on the moors.)

She looked like one already dead, lying as she did then across a grave with her arms folded across her chest. So still was she, that one could not even see the slow rise and fall of her chest, one could not even see the wind disturbing her black, curly hair.

She was beautiful, this pale corpse, but if she were to open her eyes again, surely this illusion would be shattered.

For she was the one that children had nightmares about. The one that was whispered about behind closed doors, the one that you prayed would never notice you, the one that you hoped never looked your way.  

The one that was blamed for the village of Silas’ mysterious tragedies.

The graveyard seemed to gasp as one as the girl stirred slightly and shifted on the grave. The crows fell silent, and then as one the entire murder lifted from the trees and graves where they were perched. They cawed high screams of desperation as they flew through the mist, away from the graveyard on the moors.

The girl slowly opened her eyes and watched their departure. A roll of mist drifted over her lazily, obscuring her from sight.

 _Was she ever really there?_ One might wonder. _Was she but a dream?_ Perhaps she was a remnant of a long forgotten past or perhaps she was a spectre of a girl long, long dead…

A crow flapped dangerously close to the hidden girl, its wings clipping the gravestone. So close is the bird, that it could have read the finely engraved inscription on the headstone, worn down from centuries of wind and rain and barely legible.

(Mircalla Karnstein 1680-1698)

The lone crow did not emerge from the mist to re-join its companions.

 _Danger, danger, danger._ Whispered the graveyard. _Danger, danger, danger…_


	2. Chapter One: Someone's walking on my grave...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I really can't seem to stop writing this! I hope you enjoy this update :)

**_Present day_ **

“You will not believe how good this story is, LaF.” Laura Hollis flops onto the bed of her motel room as she happily rambles to her best friend. “I’m telling you, there’s a story in the village of Silas, I just know it.”

A tinny voice echoes through the phone back at the young journalist.

“Are you sure Laura? Or is this just an excuse to get away from Danny and her new girlfriend?”

Laura sighs. She wished people would stop bringing up her ex-girlfriend and her new girlfriend. It was like rubbing salt on a wound, like kicking her when she was down like…

(Walking over her grave)

Laura jumps and shakes herself, a sudden chill crawling over her, creeping across the back of her neck. She attempts to focus her attention back on LaFontaine, but can’t seem to rid herself of the feeling that someone is behind her.

“…running away is not the answer L…”

“LaFontaine.” Having ascertained that no one was behind her, that no one was watching her in the dimly lit hotel room, she turned her attention back to her best friend. “I just need some time ok? And I know that a little village in Styria might seem boring and stupid to you, but you haven’t heard how much potential this story has.”

LaF is silent for a moment before they murmur softly: “I just worry for you Hollis.”

“I know LaF. I know.” Laura sighs again, her thoughts returning to her tall, beautiful ex, Danny. They’d been together for two years, and although their breakup had been a mutual thing it still hurt sometimes to see someone she had once loved laughing and flirting with someone else.

But Laura was fine really. She was. She was moving on, and getting away from it all. The village of Silas would be good for her, she just knew it.

(So why couldn’t she shake the pit of dread that had settled in her stomach?)

Her broody thoughts are interrupted again by a whingeing LaF.

“C’mon L, stop pouting over Danny and give me the scoop on this story. Don’t leave me hanging!”

Laura smiles to herself slightly and takes a deep breath. She moves to the window of her motel room and lifts the curtains to look out onto the dark little village. She spots a graveyard in the distance and frowns slightly as she talks to LaF.

“Every twenty years or so Silas is struck by a strange death. A girl will get these odd marks on her neck and will start having nightmares. The doctors haven’t been able to find any medical reason for the deaths either. The girls just…die.” Unconsciously Laura has lowered her voice, some primal part of her fearful of the unknown.

“So why don’t the girls in the village all just leave?”

“I honestly don’t know LaF. And it only gets weirder.”

“Jesus, Laura!”

“They say that a woman, the Countess Mircalla Karnstein is responsible for these deaths. People in the village swear that they’ve seen _something_ or _someone_ in the graveyard and they all seem to think that it’s her. A woman who’s been dead for three hundred years.” Laura lets the curtain drop back over the window and moves to lie on her bed, looking up at the mouldy ceiling.

“…ok yeah so this story maybe has some potential. Maybe there’s some sort of fungus that makes people hallucinate and blame this Mircalla chick?”

Laura rolls her eyes at the bio major, well used to their antics.

LaF continues, sudden worry colouring their voice.

“Wait Laura…when was the last death?”

Laura is silent for a while. LaFontaine repeats their question in frustration, their concern growing for their friend.

“It was twenty years ago wasn’t it?”

“LaF…”

“Laura. I know that you like taking stupid risks sometimes because of your whole thing about getting away from overprotective parents but…this is just…”

“It’ll be fine. I have bear spray.”

“But will bear spray work against the Countess?”

Laura sighs for what feels like the umpteenth time that day. “That’s just a stupid legend covering up the truth LaFontaine. And I _will_ find out the truth, trust me. Those girls deserve so much better.”

Now it’s LaF’s turn to sigh. “Ok Laura…just…please be careful ok?”

“I will LaF. I promise.”

The two say their goodbyes and Laura places her phone on the table beside her bed. She’d only just arrived in Silas, Styria, but she could already tell that there was something _off_ about this town.

When she’d arrived from the airport, it had taken her an age to find a taxi willing to drive her to the only motel in the village.

He’d kept shooting her weird looks in the rear-view mirror, as he drove and at one point he had grumbled to her:

“Silas? Are you sure you want to go there honey?”

Upon arriving at the motel, the taxi driver had given her a sorrowful look, before hastily accepting his fare and speeding off. He’d seemed nervous, Laura thought to herself. Terrified, even.

And the _people_ of the village. They were odd too certainly, although she’d only encountered a scattered few her way up to her room and at lunch time. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching her and talking about her. But she must be imaging things, _surely,_ because whenever she turned around, they’d be in normal conversation, not even glancing her way.

Laura shakes herself out of her revere. She was being paranoid. After all-the whole village couldn’t be responsible for the death of a girl, could it?

She lies back down on her bed, staring once more at the ceiling.

She still can’t shake the uneasy feeling in her stomach, she still cannot quite ignore the prickling feeling on the back of her neck.

(Someone’s walking on my grave…)

 

* * *

 

Laura wakes in the dead of night, sitting bolt upright. She’s tangled in her sheets, and struggles with them, feeling utterly helpless and trapped as the memories of her nightmares flicker before her.

(Blood, so much blood, a young, dark-haired girl, a glint of white teeth, a black feather, a coffin, a graveyard and oh so much blood…)

Laura blinks rapidly, determined to dispel any dark thoughts from her mind. It must just be the atmosphere of these creepy moors, of this hotel. It was all very Stephen King.

Laura succeeds in freeing herself from her sheets and wanders over to her window, opening the curtains and letting the moonlight spill across her room. She takes several deep breaths, desperately attempting to calm her galloping heart.

Once more she sees the graveyard in the distance, the graveyard that everyone in Silas feared so much.

She snorts to herself. She’s never been one to run away from danger. No- she _laughed_ in the face of danger, and she would face it head on.

In the heat of the moment, she forgets LaF’s concerns and begins to hunt around for her boots, determined to explore the graveyard and to prove herself that the superstitious fears of the town were unfounded.

* * *

 

Laura regrets her decision immediately. Despite the fact that she has never been particularly fearful of cemeteries (after all, she visited her mother quite often and spent hours with her in peaceful contentment) there was something _off_ about this one.

She cannot see a metre in front of her due to the mist, and she is sure that she is about to trip over and be knocked unconscious by a headstone. The light of her iPhone makes eerie shadows bounce off the cypress trees and she shivers, wishing that she had worn a warmer coat.

She turns suddenly, sure that she had heard a dry chuckle behind her.

Her iPhone’s light swings wildly as she tries to find the source of the laugh. The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Laura’s heart begins to race and sweat collects on her brow, because she knows, she _knows_ that someone is watching her.

(Oh God, oh God, oh God…)

Her shaking hand makes the light dance even more- cypress trees, feathers, angels, crosses, flicker past her in a wild stream as her panic increases.

And then she hears it again. Her heart stops, and then picks up its pace, and Laura sucks in gasping breaths.

This was such a stupid, stupid mistake… _stupid…_

Laura turns, ready to begin to run through the mist in desperation when a hand taps her on the shoulder. She begins to spin around, a scream collecting at the back of her throat.

However, the sound never has the chance to leave her lips, as a hand presses against her mouth with gentle force.

“Are you trying to wake the dead creampuff? Don’t you think that they deserve to be left in peace?” A low, female voice drawls in her ear. Laura tenses all over, utterly frozen with panic, her heart thudding in her chest.

_Thud…thud…thud…_

But she’s Laura Hollis, and she’s never been one to damsel in distress for longer than necessary. And so Laura, employing her years of Krav Maga training, applies a sharp elbow jab to her assailant’s gut. Her attacker lets out an _oof_ of pain and loosens her grip, enough for Laura to free herself from her grasp.

“Get AWAY from me.” She hisses out at the shadowy stranger, backing away and flicking her phone light up.

That chuckle rings across the graveyard again, and a girl steps into the light of Laura’s iPhone. She’s beautiful, Laura registers dully through a fog of adrenalin.

White light illuminates half of the girl’s face. Her hair curls over her shoulders in gentle waves, and soulful, dark eyes look at Laura with gleeful amusement.

An infuriating smirk dances across her lips and Laura resists the urge to punch it right off her annoyingly perfect face.

“Calm down cupcake. It was just a harmless joke- I’ve never seen anyone so jumpy before.”

“Are. You. Serious? What is wrong with you?” Laura shakes with anger, her terror long forgotten.

“It’s nice to meet you too, sweetheart. I’m Carmilla.”

Laura tries to do yoga breathing, attempting to stop her transformation into a tiny ball of rage. So a beautiful stranger just accosted her in a graveyard. That was a thing that happened.

Another deep breath.

“Well _Carmilla_ I’d thank you not to attack me in a graveyard again. Next time I’ll use bear spray.”

 _Again_ that soft chuckle. “It’s ok cupcake, my ribs are still tender from that friendly elbow jab. I won’t try anything again.”

“Hey YOU attacked ME!” Laura takes several more deep breaths, _don’t punch the annoying stranger Hollis…_ As she breathes deeply, she registers the oddness of the whole situation, and the journalist begins to get suspicious. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I could ask you the same thing, creampuff.”

“But I asked first.” Laura glares at Carmilla, she has not yet succeeded in getting rid of her anger yet. There was just something about this girl that really riled her up.

(Or you know, it may have been the midnight attacking thing that she disliked. No one liked being pounced on whilst in a graveyard at night-time.)

“I was looking at the stars. They’re beautiful tonight.” Carmilla gestures at the cloudy sky, where not a star is in sight.

Laura sighs to herself. Of course the first person she had a conversation with in Silas would turn out to be utterly delusional. This town was _really, really weird._

“You are so weird.” She blurts out, before she can stop herself- God Silas was really getting under her skin…

Carmilla merely laughs and steps back into the shadows.

“There are worst things to be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like where this is going? I really love LaFontaine and Laura as a brotp.  
> Coming up next- Laura gets into nitty gritty research and continues to be annoyed by that weird graveyard girl.


	3. Chapter Two: Someone's watching me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter :) I honestly don't know if I should continue this fic or not, but we'll see! 
> 
> Tw: brief mentions of mild panic attacks (Laura doesn't have anxiety but I wanted to tag it just in case), also guys this is a horror fic so if that makes you uncomfortable please keep yourselves safe and don't read it!

Laura wakes abruptly, tangled in her bed sheets. She struggles desperately to free herself, feeling trapped, feeling as if she is drowning and-

She takes several deep breaths ( _in, out, in out…_ ) as she looks around her motel room. It was much the same as it had been yesterday- dingy, mouldy and generally inhospitable.

Had she really met a strange girl in the graveyard last night? It was so odd that surely it must have been a dream…and she had no recollection of walking back to her room, so logic would tell her that she had not left her room last night.

She breathes out in relief. She hadn’t been attacked by a strange girl in the graveyard on the moors.

It is then that she notices her boots by the door, clogged with mud.

Laura’s breathing speeds up once again, and she resists the sudden desperate urge she has to call LaF. They would only tell her to get out of Silas and abandon the story that could make her career, and Laura knows that she cannot do that, she knows that she cannot back down.

And so, after a good ten minutes of deep breathing, Laura climbs out of her lumpy bed and hunts around in her suitcase for some clothes and her laptop. It was time to get into some research.

* * *

 

Laura doesn’t know why she continues to be so paranoid. It must be the general creepiness of the moors that is making her so jumpy.

And it probably doesn’t help that she thinks that she may have been attacked by a beautiful girl in a graveyard.

As she walks to the local library she uneasily watches a lone crow flap steadily past, laughing to itself in glee. She shudders, rubbing her hand against the back of her neck.

(Someone’s watching me.)

Laura can feel the villagers staring at her wherever she goes- she can hear them whispering and pointing at her as she passes by, she’s sure of it. Surely she cannot be imagining it all?

She tried to tell herself that she was being ridiculous, but couldn’t quite manage it. After all, she had had a very odd experience with people she had met at the local diner for breakfast.

They had at first, been nothing but pleasant to her. She’d started a conversation with an older couple, Mr and Mrs Kirsch, and Mr Kirsch had had her in fits of hysterical laughter as he told her stories about the misadventures of his son, Brody.

But there it was again! That feeling in the pit of her stomach!

Just as she was finishing her breakfast, Mrs Kirsch had asked her in a motherly manner:

“And what brings a young thing like yourself to Silas?”

The whole diner seemed to be leaning into Laura, eager to hear her answer.

She glanced around the room, but found nothing- everyone seemed to be deeply immersed in their own conversations.

(Something’s not right. LOOK BEHIND YOU!)

Laura found herself strangely reluctant then, to tell them her purpose in Silas. She couldn't explain it- they seemed nice enough and would probably be interested in her story.

And yet…she had an odd suspicion that the village wouldn't take kindly to her investigating the murders.

(When did she start thinking of the deaths as murders?)

She had eventually cleared her throat and said, “Oh I’m just here to do some research into the history of the area. For my journalism project, you know.”

“Some things are better left buried…” It was Mr Kirsch that had said this, and Laura had looked at him in confusion.

An odd choice of words. _Buried._

(Someone’s watching me…)

* * *

 

Laura eventually arrives at the library and looks up at the tall, Gothic building in wonder.

Gargoyles snarl down at her from the edges of the roof. A group of crows were perching on top of the spindly spires of the building and Laura shudders to herself at their harsh laughter.

Never before has she felt so intimidated by a library!

Laura hunches her shoulders and pushes open the heavy oak door. Inside is a regular library- she doesn’t know what she expected. Ritual sacrifices perhaps? Satan worship?

There she goes again. Being superstitious and silly. It’s like something in Silas is catching…

Laura finds a corner of the library that is relatively empty of people and sets up her laptop. She immediately pulls up a newspaper article from 1995 about the death of a young girl, Elsie.

She decides that she will spend the day trying to find other articles from past deaths in Silas. She may also have time to cross reference the legend of Mircalla with the symptoms of Elsie’s condition.

Laura exhales loudly, earning some glares from the patrons of the library.

Today was going to be a very long day…

* * *

 

She’s reading an old newspaper clipping from 1875 and frowning to herself, when someone plops down in the chair beside her and rests a pair of muddy boots on her table.

Laura glances up to glare at the boots briefly, before returning to the newspaper. She is too absorbed in research to get annoyed at anyone today.

A statement she soon retracts.

“So cupcake. Tell me what a girl like you is doing in a place like this.”

Wait. Laura recognises that voice- it’s that low, raspy one from the graveyard! Laura jumps a mile in the air, upsets all her newspapers and almost knocks her laptop off the table. She looks up so quickly that she’s sure that she’s given herself a neck injury.

It’s her-Carmilla, the beautiful stranger who had attacked her. She’s looking at her over a copy of Pet Sematary with amusement, one perfect brow raised.

“OH MY GALLOPING GARGOYLES, IT’S YOU!”

“Will you keep your voice down?” Carmilla stage whispers. “We’re in a library you know.”

Laura’s rage comes flooding back then, replacing her momentary terror and confusion.

“Oh my God. Leave me alone.” She tries to turn back to her work, tries to ignore the burning stare of the dark-haired girl beside her.

Carmilla laughs dryly. “C’mon creampuff, I don’t bite.”

Laura continues to ignore her, flipping over to an even older newspaper to read of the death of a young girl called Elizabeth.

Carmilla does not try to speak to her again; content to read her book in the mutual silence. She does not remove her muddy boots from the table.

Laura is so occupied with ignoring Carmilla and trying to research that she does not notice the terrified looks the others in the library are giving the girl.

No, the usually acutely aware Laura was happily oblivious to the changed mood in the library.

She turns over another page of the newspaper article and tries to ignore the goose bumps rising on her forearms.

_It has been observed by the Founding Fathers, that every twenty years, a girl will catch an illness, believed to be vampiric in origin. Strange markings were observed on their necks, consistent with the legend of the vampyre…_

* * *

 

After what could have been hours of ignoring the odd girl beside her and studiously researching, Laura lets out a large gasp.

 “What is it cupcake?” Carmilla looks up at her from her book. “Found something fascinating in this dull little village’s history?”

 “My name…it’s Laura, not cupcake.”

“Whatever you say, buttercup.”

“It’s. Laura. I’m not some cutesy, edible nickname.”

Carmilla ignores that. “What did you find out? That was one loud gasp and my book was just getting good too. It’s common courtesy to tell someone why you disturbed them. God this generation has no manners…”

“No manners?” Laura splutters. “Umm, I’m sorry, who attacked who in a graveyard?”

Carmilla merely rolls her eyes and yanks the newspaper out of Laura’s lose grasp.

“Hey, I was-”

(God this girl was really starting to irritate her.)

Carmilla’s eyes skim rapidly across the headline before she smirks and pushes it back to Laura.

 _“Countess Mircalla Karnstein is believed to be responsible for the death of young women”_ proclaims the newspaper from 1855.

“Gosh, this Mircalla sounds like a real bitch.” Carmilla drawls unimpressed, as she flicks her eyes to the heavens briefly before returning to her book.

Laura however, was amazed by the article- because it had documented the murders of the girls in amazing detail.

She had no idea that girls had been dying as early as the 18th century. But this document said that a young woman, Anne, had been found with the same symptoms back in 1715.

It was incredible- how was it possible that girls in the village had been dying for centuries on end and no one had done a thing about it?

Laura wonders then if she should take Carmilla into her confidence. It would be useful to have a girl, (the age of many of the girls who had died) to interview-it would be helpful to find out why girls persisted in staying in a town that could potentially kill them.

“Carmilla…” she says cautiously. The girl merely grunts in response, not looking up from her book. Laura persists her voice dropping to the merest brush of a whisper.

“Are you scared that you’re going to be next?”

Carmilla looks up then.

“What do you mean cutie? The next girl to die? Somehow, I think I’ll be alright.” Carmilla lifts her muddy boots off the table and stands to leave. Her jaw is clenched, rendering her face cold and hard, utterly closed off.  

Laura suppresses the oddest urge to stop Carmilla from leaving, because honestly why does she even try? This girl has been nothing but a selfish jerk to her…

And yet…There’s something vulnerable about the look Carmilla is giving her- perhaps Laura can see the merest shadow of fear in those dark eyes of hers, perhaps she suspects that Carmilla is scared, _terrified,_ of the village of Silas, like everyone else seems to be.

Laura opens her mouth and looks down, collecting herself.  In that moment she is not sure if she wants to insult Carmilla or ask her to stay.

But it doesn't matter in the end, because when she looks up, Carmilla is gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up- Laura turns the tables and sneaks up on Carmilla. And her research is starting to get next level SCARY!   
> (Also, what is up with the town?)


End file.
